


Sins of the Flesh

by lindenmae



Series: Bless me, Father [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, primos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenmae/pseuds/lindenmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G. feels belittled by Knuckle and does whatever he can to knock him down a notch.  also dub/con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of the Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Heresy. Heresy all up in this bitch.

 

The warehouse stank of sweat and blood; he could smell it as soon as he turned the corner. It was a smell he knew all too well making it easy for him to identify it above the stench of horse piss and human waste. His chest clenched with something almost like longing as he edged closer but he dutifully forced the feeling down. He wasn’t here to fight. He’d left that life behind.

“Knuckle!” He barely caught his name being called out over the din of drunken men yelling encouragement to their chosen fighter or the price of their bets. He shoved through the crowd, offering small smiles of acknowledgement whenever he was clapped on the back or asked about his sudden and long disappearance from the scene. 

“Are you fighting tonight?”

“My money’s always on you, Knuckle!”

“Finally making a comeback, eh?”

He shook their hands and shook his head, shrugging aside the requests and the pleas and the questions. He wasn’t here to fight. He’d left that life behind.

It was a mantra he couldn’t abandon.

He caught a glimpse of the makeshift ring as he scanned the arena and a feeling of nostalgia washed over him. What he wouldn’t give to be back in that little circle, feet dancing and fists flying. Then the nausea came, clawing at his stomach and infiltrating his mind and reminding him why, exactly, it was that he wasn’t down there anymore. 

He’d always been the best and then he’d lost control. He couldn’t do it again, _ever._

A flash of red obscured by a haze of gray smoke caught his eye amongst the sea of mud and mess and people. He clenched his fists at his sides and steeled his resolve and marched in the direction of the lone flame with his purpose etched on his face.

G. was surrounded by men and even a few women, counting his winnings out loud around the cigar in his mouth. When his sight lined up with Knuckle’s glare, he smirked and motioned for the other young man to take a seat by his side. 

“Look at what we have here, gentlemen.” He drawled; his voice made ugly by the cigar still clenched tightly between his teeth. “It seems that the once great Knuckle has deemed you lowlifes worthy of his presence once again.”

He plucked the cigar from between his lips just as Knuckle made to sit down, exhaling smoke directly into the other man’s face. 

“What are you doing here, _father?”_   He sneered, crossing his slim legs and leaning back against the stacked crates that made up his makeshift seat.

“You know why I’m here, G.” Knuckle whispered furiously, meeting the smoldering gaze beneath G.’s tangled mop of auburn hair. There was something not quite sane about the spark in the Storm’s stare and it put Knuckle on edge. It made Knuckle want to save him from himself.

“You’re here to ruin my fun.” G. scowled at his companion, a mocking undertone apparent in his expression. Knuckle bristled at the idea that the man was making fun of him.

“This behavior is deplorable.” G. only raised his brows and reached into the folds of his discarded coat, withdrawing a silver flask and holding it under Knuckle’s chin. Knuckle grimaced but snatched the container anyway, swallowing a mouthful of fire coated whiskey before deciding to direct his jabs to his opponent’s weakest point.

“You are making the Family look bad.” He hissed, satisfaction creeping across his chest when the Storm Guardian’s eyes widened and pure fury marred Knuckle’s reflection in them.

“Fuck you!” G. seethed, his words coated in venom that Knuckle could almost feel biting into his skin. “Don’t tell me about the Family. I’m the one who’s been by Giotto’s side his whole life. I made the Vongola!” 

G. crushed his slips in his fist and poured a shot of alcohol down his throat as he tried to compose himself. Knuckle could see the calculating appraisal replace the raw emotion in his eyes and he knew he was back on the losing end of this fight. He’d gotten the upper hand and gotten a good, solid hit in but G. was preparing to undercut him.

“Is that why you followed me?” He purred, “To save face for the Vongola? Or was it something else?”

Knuckle resisted the urge to squirm under the accusation he could see coming from a mile away but couldn’t block.

“Are you sure you didn’t just want an excuse to come here? A chance to remember your glory days?”

“You’re a bastard, G.” Knuckle spat, fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly, at his sides.

The Storm’s eyes sparkled with the knowledge that he had hit his mark.

“Such language from a man of the cloth. Tell you what… I’ll give you half of my winnings if you fight tonight. Don’t you want to feel that adrenaline again?”

Knuckle’s blood boiled beneath his skin. He knew the Storm Guardian was only trying to goad him, to make him angry, but he couldn’t stop himself from giving the man exactly that.

“I will not fight. You should not try to tempt me.”

G. chewed on the tip of his cigar and smiled; a look that immediately made Knuckle think of the devil and made blood rush to his groin.

“But isn’t that what your religion is all about? Resisting temptation?”

Knuckle grit his teeth and rose from his seat at G.’s side. “Giotto sent me. I would not come here of my own volition nor would I follow _you.”_   

He pushed his way through the circle of G.’s rat-faced lackeys and stormed toward the nearest exit from the warehouse. He wanted nothing to do with the underground boxing scene any longer. He’d given it up and such excursions to attempt to reign in the ill behavior of his boss’s right hand were draining his will. The sights and the smells and the sounds barraged his senses and broke his heart. Once upon a time this had been his arena, his kingdom, but that was lost to him now.

When he chanced a glance back he saw G. donning his heavy overcoat and stuffing his winnings into his pocket. He sighed with relief and just a hint of resentment. G. moved gracefully even in anger. It was unsettling… and arousing. Knuckle picked up his pace and exhaled audibly when the cool night air hit his face and announced his escape from the sins of his past. His heart remained heavy though, aware that the sins he had yet to commit would pull at his mind and follow him all the way home.

“I’m not leaving because of you.” G.’s voice echoed about the deserted alley that led away from the warehouse. 

Knuckle slowed his pace reluctantly. The man was aggravating and Knuckle knew they would have come to blows much sooner than this if the vows that he had taken did not expressly forbid such violence. There were times that he wished he could forget his pledge just for the instant it would take to knock G. cold and permanently mar that pretty, perfect face. He found it nothing short of infuriating that the markings that ran the length of G.’s profile did nothing to detract from his appeal. 

“I would have worried for the apocalypse had I been your motivation.” He responded curtly without turning around. He supposed it wrong to speak of such a serious event in such a flippant tone but the Storm Guardian brought out his worst.

“How fascinating… The priest has a sense of humor.”

G.’s steps caught up with Knuckle’s and the two men continued their tense parade back to the Vongola mansion. Knuckle consciously kept a body’s width between them; wary of being so close to such a sinful creature.

“I make you uncomfortable.” It was a statement, not a question and Knuckle bristled because the answer was yes. 

He had never felt so strongly about anything as he did his vows, except boxing and loving that was what set him down this path in the first place. He did not like being forced to question his choices. Life is a constant choice between two extremes and he had made his while G. seemed to keep changing his mind.

“I sincerely hope you find peace one day.” He didn’t tilt his head to catch G.’s reaction, instead keeping his gaze direct and straight ahead. “You are lost. You have nothing without Giotto but he has so much more than you. It’s sad really.”

He didn’t need to see G.’s face to know he’d landed another direct hit. The Storm Guardian would, no doubt, be reeling from this unforeseen combination punch. Unfortunately such a move could only have two results with this specific opponent: G. would be furious and assault him for thinking to make him vulnerable, the most likely, or G. would be too stunned to react and Knuckle would be allowed enough time to safely retreat to his chambers within the mansion and hopefully enough time to pray and absolve himself of the day’s sins.

Of course, though he was prepared in his mind for the most likely reaction, no one can be truly physically prepared for having a family member, someone they are supposed to trust above all else, forcefully shove them into a wall in a dark alley where no one would respond were they to shout. Knuckle’s heart beat in his throat as he felt the rough stone wall against his chest through the think silk of his robes. G. snarled in his ear and the noise sent shivers down Knuckle’s body. He could feel the man’s body heat pressed against his back and smell the smoke and liquor on his breath.

“You think because you found God that you can sit on your high horse and judge me?” Knuckle could feel the anger in G.’s words, like it was physically burning him. “You’re right. Giotto is all I have… He’s all I’ve ever had. I would die for him a million times. Can you say the same thing? You won’t even fight for him.”

Knuckle shoved at the wall, trying to put even a hair’s width of distance between their bodies so that he could think clearly.

“You have a family. We are Vongola… all of us.” 

He closed his eyes and braced himself, pushing off just enough to startle his assailant and turn around. 

“You have brothers if you would just accept us.”

The little bit of moonlight that could be made out in their dark alley seemed to sparkle in G.’s eyes and highlight his malice. His jaw was set and his face was full of fury.

“I’m not going to fight you.”   Knuckle breathed slowly but with no waver in his voice. His chest heaved and his stomach knotted at their proximity; he could feel G.’s hot breath on his cheek and, startling, the growing bulge in his pants.

“What are you going to do then, father? Are you going to save me? Are you going to make me see the light of God and take away all my sins?”

Knuckle swallowed and tried get his suddenly heavy breathing under control. 

“I could help you.”

G.’s eyes narrowed to thin slits that hid away their striking color and made Knuckle’s breath hitch.

“What if I don’t want to be helped?”

G. leaned in, his chest heavy against Knuckle’s; the heat being created between them a sudden inferno. The Storm’s slender thigh accidentally brushed against Knuckle’s hidden erection and he gasped, hitting his head on the stone behind him and bringing his hands up to grasp at G.’s shoulders.

“What do you want?” A stupid question but Knuckle’s mind was cloudy with something he couldn’t quite name. 

“I want to stay a sinner.” G. whispered so quietly, Knuckle couldn’t be sure he was actually hearing the words. “It suits me.”

Before he could process the statement G.’s mouth was on his, hot and forceful. He took without asking, plunging his tongue between Knuckle’s lips with no warning and pressing his body flush against the ex-boxer’s. Knuckle moaned and then startled to realize that the sound had come from him. He tried to push at G.’s shoulders, he was bigger after all, but G.’s body didn’t budge and Knuckle didn’t have the clarity of mind to wonder if he was really pushing at all. He felt G.’s thigh slide against his crotch again, sending delicious shivers throughout his limbs and making him weak. 

Deep in his core he knew it was wrong. His mind shouted at him to reject this temptation and stay true to his vows but his body undulated against his human barrier, relishing the feeling of warm skin and a beating heart against his own. 

“Stop.  _Stop._ ” He panted for breath when G. finally tore his mouth away. He heard the words clearly in his mind but they sounded like nothing more than wanton moans once past his lips. 

He wanted to shove the other man away, sit him down and talk him through his demons. G. was a haunted soul and if Knuckle allowed it, he would drag him down to the depths of Hell. He had already failed his vows so much in just the last few seconds by not being firm with the man. Then G.’s hand ghosted between them and grasped at his erection through the fabric of his pants and he realized that, perhaps, firm was not the problem. 

He dug his fingers into the heavy wool of G.’s coat, feeling the rough fibers beneath his nails. This was wrong.  _Wrong._ He needed to leave. He needed to use his strength, the strength he knew he had; the strength the Lord gave him. He needed to stop this and his mind screamed for him to do something, anything that wasn’t a positive response to G.’s ministrations but his body wouldn’t cooperate and when his mind said stop and speak, his body ignored the commands. 

G. dug his face into the crook of Knuckle’s neck and bit the thick muscle that the man had not let wither just because he wasn’t fighting anymore. He moaned and pulled at the Storm’s coat, drawing him closer even as he willed himself to push away. 

It was like an earthquake assaulting his senses, shaking his foundation, and making him question everything he believed in.   G. pressed him further and deeper into the stone; it raked against his back, pulling at his clothing and assaulting his skin. He could feel the points of G.’s teeth slicing his skin, could feel his breath against his neck and he couldn’t find that strength, that he knew he had, to stop it.

G. ground their hips together and hissed and the sound thrilled him even though he knew better than to let it. 

_Forgive me, Lord, forgive me._

G. slid down his frame and lifted the heavy silk of his cassock. He dug his fingers into Knuckle’s hips and mouthed his erection through the cloth of his breeches. The feeling shot through his body like electricity and erupted out of his mouth in a sharp gasp. He bucked his hips forward in a freak movement that couldn’t have been commanded by his brain but happened anyway. G. snarled against him and he fisted his hands in the lapels of G.’s coat, pulling or pushing, he didn’t know which.

“Leave… leave it.” Overwhelmed by feelings he couldn’t seem to fight, he tried to swim out of the whirlpool of arousal that had caught him but he was stuck. 

G. growled his aversion to the command and made quick work of unlacing his pants. Knuckle hissed when G. freed his erection, exposing it to the night. He threw his head back and slid his hands along the other man’s neck, fisting them in the Storm’s flaming hair.

“Stop this.” There was no timbre in his voice, nothing to tell the kneeling Guardian that he meant the command.

G. wrapped his thin fingers around the base of Knuckle’s erection and squeezed; Knuckle made a sort of gurgling noise in his throat but it went ignored as G.’s pale lips found the head of his cock and kissed it. He lapped out with his tongue to taste the beads of liquid that had collected at the tip and hummed his approval in the back of his throat. The vibrations knocked Knuckle even further off of his guard and sent his mind reeling. His grip on G.’s hair became almost painful but the Storm Guardian would not be dissuaded. 

He moved his finger along Knuckle’s shaft as his tongue licked at and around the head. Knuckle chanced a glance downward and locked eyes with his tormentor through fringes of red. G smiled at him briefly before ducking his eyes and swallowing him. Knuckle choked and felt his knees go weak and it was all he could do to keep them from buckling and sending him to the ground. He sobbed aloud and looked upwards at the sky. The stars teased him with their distance, calling to him to admire them but constantly reminding him that he could never touch them.

Heaven would always be just within his grasp but it would never be his. His hands clenched harshly in G.’s hair as the man pumped and swallowed and milked him to his last breath. He came with a heart shattering violence that left him empty and hollow and not the least bit satisfied.

G. licked at his rapidly softening member until every drop of evidence was gone and swallowed. Knuckle stared in horror as the Storm Guardian let his cassock fall and got to his feet. 

“We’re on the same level now.” He stated darkly, staring Knuckle directly in the eye, before turning away and continuing his passage out of the alley. 

Knuckle shuddered and fell to his knees, shamed and shattered; a true knockout. 

 

 


End file.
